Everytime I Look At You
by LadyMantis
Summary: Pride really is the ultimate sin. Jim/Molly. I play fast and loose with the characters here.
1. Chapter 1

It wasn't an act, not really. Okay, so maybe it was partially an act but mostly it was just him. Well 'him' minus a few attributes….. a few controversial personal habits. What would annoy and rankle is the realisation that not only did he hide in plain sight but that she did too. It was utterly delicious when you could take advantage of another's pride and use it against them, especially if they had it coming.

Sherlock, Oh Sherlock! You noticed, you saw, you ignored and here I am the innocuous cipher, 'Jim from IT' parachuted in by fate to save the day. He did feel sometimes that she might look back on this and see him heroically. He was after all the man who awakened her from her long slumber… her ludicrous crush on Sherlock Holmes. I mean, the man looked positively startling, his face was like an exclamation point, constantly searching, deducing, REASONING-an incessant, and if Jim was honest with himself, highly amusing need to _understand why_ people did what they do.

There was something not quite right about Jim. He was a little funny… a little off. For instance last evening he had come over to watch, Glee and Mad Men, while she made dinner. She had just put the kettle on and while slicing up a surprisingly dense almond frangipane the knife slipped and she cut her finger. Swearing loudly her finger immediately went into her mouth and as though he had been waiting in the doorway there was Jim. Surrounding her, enveloping her in his arms and initially it was nice, a comfort, but then she saw his face, his eyes really. Jim's eyes always gave him away. He was mocking her, enjoying her pain and discomfort and he wanted to be as close to it as possible, he wanted to be right up next to it. _He wanted to taste it_. So Molly then made a rash decision one that surprised her, she decided to grant Jim his wish. She kissed him.

Well he hadn't been expecting that! She was practically going off beneath his fingertips, all that blood pumping, her fast beating pulse, anxiously inhaled breaths.. and tongue… Molly Hooper had just stuck her tongue right down his throat. This wasn't an ask this was a demand and maybe just maybe she was punishing him. When the kiss ended the hard look in her eyes told him all he needed to know. They understood each other. The rouse was off. She had bled on his hand, he lifted this to his mouth lightly tracing the blood on his lips, a flash of pink as his tongue darted out. Just the once so quickly she thought she might have imagined it. Then a quirked eyebrow and a truly chilling smirk and 'Jim' left out of the room, out of her flat into the night. He didn't even bother closing the door.


	2. Chapter 2

For a few seconds all she heard was the fast whirl of her pulse. Picture her there in her flat, starring out her door into the cool, wet London night. Her mouth was slightly open her pupils just dilated. Then a noise, Toby escaping via the front door. Toby, who had never shown the least interest in the outside world, always seeming to prefer the routine of his indoor existence, his easy, cossetted indoor life. Now apparently he was in hot pursuit of Jim/NotJim. Now Molly wasn't a rash woman, she was raised to be sensible and reliable her parents valuing these two qualities above all else. But now a small sort of screamy thing seemed to be going off in her subconscious.

A memory-earlier that day 'Jim' and Sherlock had met; it was a brief and unremarkable encounter. Jim eventually left, giving Sherlock a soft-spoken 'Nice to meet you,' Sherlock paused after his exit, looked up from his microscope and giving Molly a look that seemed to peer into the depths of her soul, announced (apropos of nothing), 'Gay.' It was such a shockingly vindictive and mocking statement; he practically oozed pleasure in dismissing Molly's first proper boyfriend in ages. She gasped in reply and fled the room, hearing Watson's strong reprimand of Sherlock as she passed him in the hallway. Later that evening when she asked Jim if he did in fact prefer blokes and that it was fine if he did but it might put a damper on their romantic relationship, he waved it off. No, he had simply given Sherlock his number on the off chance the detective had any pressing IT needs. He was quite the accomplished hacker in Uni and this could be a useful to a man like Sherlock, a man trying to find things that wanted to stay hidden.

She then began to move very quickly. Plaster for her finger, sorted. Passport, keys, clothes, she ransacked her bathroom for toiletries. When she left the front door was still open.

Late night passengers were always the weirdest. Take this woman for example, she looked nigh on hysterical; windswept hair, huge eyes, and absolutely no sodding clue where she wanted to go. When asked she would only reply, 'Somewhere that has nice weather.' That was it the last straw, it was three weeks before her retirement and 15 minutes before her break (a fag would be lovely right about now thanks), so Carol Robinson, resorted to her tried and true method for dealing with the most difficult passengers. She simply put them on the next flight. This lucky lass was going to Florence, Carol hoped that she made more sense in Italian.


End file.
